Castaway
by Seawillow
Summary: Warning: Slash. Prologue is Gen. Two explicit scenes in Chapter 1. Chapter 2 is Gen. Mature audiences. G80/ SG1 x-over. Dr. Zee makes a possibly fatal error that leaves him stranded on Earth and the Fleet lost. Many thanks to Mayalaen, Ladyhawke and Ruth.
1. Prologue: In the Swells

Part 1: In the Swells

Somewhere to the Right of Jupiter, 23 August 1981

Dr. Zee closed his eyes against the transmitted image of the blue and white planet turning serenely. He had known from the beginning that this part of his plan wouldn't please his guardian and had glossed over it, revealing it slowly and only as necessity dictated. He'd delayed as long as he could, but since the last intelligence reports from the long-range scouts, there was no time to wait. It simply couldn't be avoided any longer. His eyes opened and he watched Adama's angrily pacing reflection in the darker portion of the viewscreen. The commander stopped abruptly and Zee turned to face him.

Yes, it was very much the Fleet Commander in evidence in the cold piercing gaze. Dr. Zee had only rarely had to face the Commander in his young life. As his guardian, Adama was quietly affectionate, proud of his ward's accomplishments, and often indulgent, if Zee were really truthful. He wondered if that was the Adama Captain Troy knew in more private moments, as well. The Fleet Commander, however, was not inclined to be indulgent at the moment. Adama took three steps toward him, towering over the boy. Zee straightened further and pulled his hands behind his back to hide the tell-tale trembling, unconsciously adopting a parade-rest stance.

"How long have you been planning this?" Adama asked softly, his voice a deep baritone rumble.

Zee's skin prickled with a sense-memory of the distant thunderstorm he'd witnessed one night during one of his rare visits to Earth. Flashes of lightning had lit up the dark clouds over the hills that ringed Paradise Valley that night and the thunder had rolled almost continuously, a deep rumble that he had felt as much as heard. Even the damp air had seemed to have an electric feeling to it, like a living thing, wild, exotic and potentially dangerous. It had been mesmerizing for a fourteen year old boy raised all his life aboard starships. He suddenly understood why the Colonial Warriors -- even Adama's grandson, Troy -- jumped to attention so quickly at the sound of that low voice. Adama shouted when he was irritated; this low rumble signaled danger.

The boy-scientist opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. His throat was suddenly too dry to speak and he swallowed once before trying again.

"We have known since we arrived that Earth is not sufficiently advanced to..."

"Enough!" It was more a rough exhalation than a word. The sound hung in the air between them for long seconds. Adama resumed his pacing then stopped and turned to face his ward once more. "I won't allow it!"

Zee blinked in surprise. He honestly hadn't expected to hear those words. He'd heard Adama make that pronouncement before, once when he was eight and Captain Troy had devised a foolhardy plan to raid a Cylon listening post in a tricky area of space. The men had forgotten the boy's presence and argued fiercely, and Zee had been a bit frightened until Colonel Boomer had unexpectedly started laughing. He explained that he hadn't heard that particular phrase in yahrens; oddly, he said it had brought back good memories. The men had stared at the colonel for a moment, then continued their discussion in more civil tones.

Adama had still rejected the plan and rightfully so -- Troy's plan had been dangerous and clearly flawed -- but that was different. Zee's plan was neither. He had put much thought and research into this idea. He truly believed that this was the best course of action left to them. Had he not, he would never have approached the Council. Adama had agreed to everything up to this point, to have him reject the last phase out of hand was unthinkable. The Council had already approved this final stage, but if the Galactica's commander wouldn't allow his shuttle to launch, there was little the Council or anyone else could do about it.

"What in all the wide heavens made you think for a single instant that I would agree to this...this..." Adama shook his head in either frustration or denial, Zee wasn't certain which.

Zee took a deep breath. "This will work!" his voice rang out, louder than he'd intended and broke high on the last word. He winced in embarrassment. "I've been working on improving the targeting with the data collected by Captain Troy and Lieutenant Dillon on their last few trips into Earth's past. I can plot the fleet's exit time for exactly fifteen years in the future. That should be long enough for the seeds we've planted to have begun to grow. Yes, it's a different method from the one we've used to travel into the past, but --"

"That's not what concerns me!" Adama roared.

Zee stared at his guardian, bewildered. "We've fooled the Cylons this long, but we won't be able to hide much longer. Adama, you saw Lt. Corwin's report even before I did - they're starting to turn back looking for us. If they decide to look too closely at Earth, we won't be able to protect her. They'll destroy everything on the planet. Once the fleet is through the wormhole, they won't be able to get a fix on us. We'll be...I can show you the data...

Adama shook his head and strode towards the boy once more. His large hands closed gently but firmly on the thin shoulders as he crouched to look into Zee's eyes. "Can you show me the data on how a fourteen-year-old boy is supposed to survive all alone on that planet?" He rose and shook Zee's shoulders gently. "That's what worries me, child. I won't allow it. I can't."

"But, the vessel with the equipment has to be on this end to anchor the wormhole. It won't work otherwise, and someone has to be there to operate it."

"Someone else. A warrior."

"I'm the best choice, Adama," Zee stated reasonably. "If something goes wrong, someone will need to be there to keep the wormhole stable. I know the equipment intimately. I wouldn't be able to train someone else quickly enough. Besides, if someone were to be left behind, when the fleet arrives at it's destination, that person will have aged fifteen years. I'm the most logical choice."

Adama's heavy eyebrows raised. "Oh, are you?" he responded archly. "And how did you determine that?"

Zee shrugged. "I'm the youngest. If the worst happens, I'll still be in my prime when the Fleet returns."

"Dr. Petros is quite young for his position," Adama reminded him, but Zee was already shaking his head.

"Dr. Petros was just sealed last week. It's best this way, Adama. I don't have a family to disappoint."

Adama stared at him and Zee's heart lurched oddly. He'd never seen such a sad expression on his guardian's face. He looked suddenly old -- an odd thing to notice about a man who was well over one hundred years old already, but somehow Adama had never really seemed old to Zee until that moment. Then the expression was gone and the Fleet Commander was back with a vengence.

"Your request is denied, Dr. Zee." The Commander turned to walk away, his back rigid.

"Wait." Zee thought quickly. "I - I could perhaps set the equipment on a timer." Adama paused and turned and Zee continued quickly while he had the Commander's attention once more. "I would still need to be on the vessel almost until the last minute to make the final calculations, but then I could take the life-pod and return to the Galactica before the last of the Fleet enters the wormhole."

Zee held his breath while Adama considered the compromise. This desperate gamble really was their last true hope, they couldn't continue on the way they'd been for the last thirty years and surely Adama knew that as well as Zee. The answer was not assured, however; the Caprican Warrior was notorious for his obstinence.

At length, the Galactica's Commander nodded slowly. "You will take Captain Troy with you," he said decisively.

"What?! Why?"

"He'll make certain you get back safely," Adama answered calmly. He turned once more at the door and added gently, "That, my young friend, is not open to discussion."

************

"I thought the idea was to bring Earth up to speed technologically," Jamie Hamilton commented.

Dillon sighed. "It still is, Jamie, but the timing is a critical factor."

"The fleet needs help now, Jamie," Troy added, turning away from packing up the last of the Fleet children's Earth clothing in preparation for their return to the Fleet. He paused to look across the field to where the children were taking their leave of the Alonzo family. Hector and his wife and children were good people. Troy was sorry he'd have to miss seeing Chris and Gloria grow up. "Even with what we've been able to do, the changes will take time. Do you honestly think your world is ready for interstellar refugees? Or the Cylon Empire?"

"So what happened to not meddling with Earth's past?" she asked hotly.

"Technically, we're not," Dillon chimed in. "We're meddling with Earth's present. That's what we've been doing all along."

"Oh, sure, that's what you say. How do I know you aren't really from the future anyway?"

The two men turned to stare incredulously at their friend.

"Well, you could be," she snapped.

Troy shook his head and muttered, "I'm not even going to answer that."

Jamie fumed for a few minutes more as the men silently stowed the kids' gear in the shuttle's cargo compartment.

"So tell me again why I'm being left behind? You promised me an exclusive, remember? Film at eleven?"

Troy's lips curled in a slight smile. The reminder of their "deal" with the reporter was an old joke between the three.

"I wish we could bring you, Jamie," Dillon commented softly.

The decision to leave Jamie Hamilton behind in the current time had hit Dillon harder than anyone had expected. The big warrior wasn't particularly quiet, but did tend to keep his emotions to himself. Only Troy was privy to the growing attraction his friend had been nurturing towards the Earth woman. Dillon hadn't even gotten around to discussing the subject openly with Jamie herself and now, well, it was a moot point, now. Troy was frankly worried about him. Troy slammed the compartment shut with a bit more force than necessary and turned with a grin, hoping to dispell the increasingly gloomy atmosphere.

"You'll still get your exclusive, Miss Hamilton," he teased.

"Yeah, in fifteen years!" she sniped back. She dug in her pocketbook and came up with a pack of cigarettes. She had barely gotten one lit when Dillon pulled it from her mouth and tamped it out. "Hey!"

"We'd like you to be here when we get back, Jamie," the big man lectured in what Troy thought of as his best school-teacher voice. "Y'know, Dr. Salik analyzed these things -- they're pure poison."

She glared at Dillon for a moment, then launched herself at him for a tight hug. When Troy started to back towards the exit, she reached out and snagged his sleeve and pulled him forward, too. "God, I'm gonna miss you guys," she sniffed. She leaned back and swiped at her damp eyes. "Damn it, look what you made me do," she accused.

Dillon pulled her to his chest once more. "We'll miss you, too."

Troy's communicator buzzed at that moment and he quickly stepped outside. "Troy."

_Captain, this is Core Command.__ Your departure has been moved forward.__ Prepare to rendezvouz with Galactica in 25 centons.__ Report directly to Command._

"Acknowledged, Core Command." Troy frowned as he slipped the sleeve of his jacket over the communicator and returned to the shuttle. He banged on the bulkhead twice before entering and pretended not to notice that his friends were still moving out of their embrace as he stepped into the compartment. "Dillon, we've been moved up. We've got 25 centons before rendezvouz with Galactica. Better get the kids in here and settled."

Dillon glanced up at his friend's distracted tone. "What's up?"

Troy shook his head, then shrugged. "I don't know. Jamie..."

She reached out and touched Troy's shoulder, then rose on her toes and planted a sisterly kiss on his cheek. "I know. Thanks," she said softly, then there were children hopping aboard and she turned to pass out goodbye hugs and kisses to the little ones before quickly leaving the shuttle and moving out of range to allow them to take off. She stopped and turned when she heard the engines engage. She raised a hand to wave one last time, then hastily shielded her eyes as the shuttle's launch kicked up the dirt, leaves and debris in the area. By the time her vision had cleared, they were gone.

***********

"We should be getting to the pod," Troy commented.

Zee tossed his companion -- his _babysitter_ -- a sullen glance, and the captain winced. He knew Dr. Zee was a boy -- hell, they'd shared a compartment briefly before Troy had graduated from the academy and moved to the batchelor warriors' quarters -- but this was the first time that he could remember Zee acting like the adolescent he was. It was...awkward.

Troy sighed as he watched the scientist's hands moving over his equipment. He recognized stalling when he saw it. Zee would tweak one instrument, move to another then return the first to its original setting.

The captain combed one hand through his dark hair and sighed again roughly. "Listen, Zee...It's not that he doesn't trust you..."

"Oh, no," the boy muttered in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone. "It's just my judgement he doesn't trust."

Troy frowned again at the tone. There was something familiar about this exchange, but it took him a moment to grasp what it was. When he did, the realization startled a laugh out of him.

Zee's blond head snapped around to stare at his foster-brother furiously. "What?"

Troy laughed again then gentled his tone at the rising flush on the boy's normally pale face. "Zee, Dad and I had this exact same argument when I was - well - maybe a little younger than you are now."

Zee scowled. "It's not the same," he said dismissively.

"No, it never is," Troy murmured. This last couple of days in his company had forced Troy to come to a realization. All this time, living in the same household with the fleet's young adopted castaway, Troy had never really noticed that Zee was, in many ways, just a boy. He'd allowed himself to get caught up in the attitudes of those around him, seeing only the alien scientist, not the child. His father had been right, Troy admitted with a twinge of conscience. He resolved to take this new understanding back with them when they returned. It was time Dr. Zee was given the latitude to act like a teen-ager from time to time and Troy would be the one to see to it he did. The next few years should be _fun_.

Finally Zee had to concede that it was time to set this plan in motion. Galactica and the rest of the Colonial Fleet were warned to prepare for the jump and the timer was set.

"So, when this is all over, I'm supposed to meet Dad for dinner on the Celestra. Why don't you join us? We can hit the Academy Triad courts while we're there. Little one-on-one game?" Troy suggested casually as he made ready to disengage one of the science vessels five small life pods from it's moorings.

The suggestion seemed to catch Dr. Zee off guard. "Why?" he asked. "I don't play triad."

Troy smiled a little. Zee's tone was genuinely puzzled. He glanced up and caught the boy's eye. "Trust me. The physical exertion will help."

"I haven't seen Commander Apollo for several sectars," Zee added diffidently. "I'm not certain..."

"He'd like to see you," Troy answered.

Zee frowned a little and chewed his lip, glancing at Troy from the corner of his eye as he settled into his seat. Finally Troy was rewarded with a small smile, the first he'd seen from Zee in a while. "Perhaps so," the boy conceded, then ducked when the warrior reached out and touselled his hair.

"There you go. Then later, Dillon and I can introduce you to the wonders of locker room talk."

Zee glanced up at him again in confusion. Troy just laughed.

Outside the portal, the wormhole swirled into existence. "Oh, showtime!" Troy muttered turning his attention to the task at hand.

The tiny vessel lurched then shuddered violently.

"Was that supposed to happen?!" the pilot snapped.

Dr. Zee was already wrestling with his seat restraints and dove for the door of the pod. "No, something's wrong!"

"Zee!" Troy grabbed for the scientist and missed by a hairsbreadth. "Zee, get back here!"

The boy was tossed to the floor as the vessel lurched again and for an instant his stomach rebelled as the artifical gravity flickered and then stabilized. He scrambled to his feet and lurched for the control panel. Outside, the wormhole fluxed sickeningly.

"No, the wormhole's destabilizing! Something's interfering with it. I have to compensate!"

Part of the fleet had already disappeared into the energy stream, the rest were committed. The wormhole fluxed again and one of the ships nearest the fluctuation bloomed in a bright explosion for a second before the vaccuum extinguished it. Zee's fingers flew across the controls and the wormhole settled again. He glanced over his shoulder at Troy.

"I don't know how long I can hold it."

"Damn it, Zee! We have to get off this ship!" The warrior grabbed the boy's arm and drug him towards the open pod.

The vessel lurched again and tossed to one side. Troy lost his grip on Zee's arm and slammed into the open life pod hatch while Zee clung to the bolted-in control chair.

"Troy!"

The warrior didn't answer and Zee was out of time.

"Computer! Emergency protocol! Disengage life pod Alpha!"

There was a pause before the computer's voice responded. _Life pod Alpha disengaging._

The airlock doors hissed briefly and the tiny life pod streaked away, it's automatic pilot setting course for the nearest Colonial vessel as programmed. Seconds later, the wormhole flashed once and collapsed. The Colonial Fleet was gone.

***********

In the end, she'd just gone home, back to her job, back to her life. Now, days after the shuttle had made it's exit from Earth's atmosphere, Jamie Hamilton sat on the tiny balcony of her apartment, arms loosely wrapped around her knees, and studied the stars. There should have been some sign, she thought. A flash of light, a thunderclap, something. Something to signal the end of this amazing chapter of her life.

When the telephone rang, she almost didn't answer it.


	2. Chapter 1: Any Port

Ft. Collins, CO, 15 April 2002:

The flickering of the flourescent light above the departure board made it difficult to read quickly. Another traveler shuffled up to read the board and the lean blond-haired man moved over to a row of empty plastic seats and tossed down his backpack. He pulled a well-fingered deck of cards from the front pocket and shuffled them in his hands fifteen times, once for each day of the month, before cutting the deck. Seven of Clubs. After slipping the deck of cards back into the pack, the man looked back at the departure board. Seventh from the bottom, right-hand side. Colorado Springs, departing in 52 minutes. He shouldered the backpack and joined the queue at the ticket booth.

A little over an hour later, the bus pulled onto the main highway and Ezekiel Adams settled back into the cushions with a sigh, finally able to relax. The travel hubs were always nerve-wracking. There were so many things that could go wrong. His left knee twinged and he stretched it stiffly alongside the seat ahead of him. The Aleve and soft brace were in the pack in the overhead. He just didn't have the energy to drag himself up to get them.

Back in the station, one of the two ticket agents took advantage of a lull and closed his line. He waved to catch the attention of a supervisor in the back; he held up a cigarrette and made a breaking motion with his hands. The supervisor waved him on. He walked out onto the sidewalk and watched as the bus' red taillights disappeared into the sparce pre-dawn traffic, then pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

Colorado Springs, CO, 16 April 2002:

There was a store-front diner just opening for the morning crowd within walking distance from the bus station. Ezekiel ordered a cup of coffee and a hardboiled egg with unbuttered toast and settled into a booth with a clear view of both the front and kitchen doors. As the waitress sauntered away, he pulled the cards out of the backpack, shuffled sixteen times and cut. King of Hearts. He frowned. Thirteen weeks, a little over three months. It had been a long time since he had stayed in one place that long. Not since Bakersfield.

_And you sure as hell remember Bakersfield, don't you, Zee?_

He didn't like to discard his system without a concrete reason.

_The Air Force Academy concrete enough for you? How about Andrews? NORAD?_

Still, there'd been no sign of a tail since they botched the pick-up in Wichita Falls in January. The cards kept his movements random, kept him from falling into an unconscious pattern and so far had kept his pursuers guessing. The day he started altering outcomes to suit himself was the day he became predictable. Becoming predictable was only a short step from becoming dead and Ezekiel wasn't ready to die, at least not today.

Decision made, he put the cards away and washed down the last bite of toast with the coffee. Thirteen weeks meant he needed a place to live, maybe a job. Maybe this time he could save up enough for a car. The guy at the next table finished his meal and left, leaving a newspaper behind. Ezekiel snagged it and pulled out the want-ads.

********

"One tall Arabian Mocha Sanani and a currant scone."

The tall man's blue eyes crinkled a bit at the edges when he smiled. "Now, how do you know that I want a tall Arabian Mocha Sanani and a currant scone today? I haven't ordered yet."

Ezekiel grinned. "Maybe because you've placed the same order every morning for the last - oh - three days? Ever since the Arabian became the coffee of the week."

"Now, see, that's my point exactly. Maybe I want something different this morning. Maybe I want, um..." Blue Eyes peered at the menu board over Ezekiel's left shoulder and considered his options. "...an Espresso Macchiano, solo, with a piece of that pumpkin bread."

"Oh, well, in that case, sir, I'd say that this is my tall Arabian Mocha Sanani and scone, and that your Espresso and pumpkin bread are on me," Ezekiel answered. He watched the blue eyes flutter for a moment and chuckled at the bemused expression on the other man's face.

"Um, o-kay," he replied slowly.

Ezekiel returned with the espresso and pastry and waved to Sandra at the other end of the counter. She grinned and gave him a thumbs' up. He smiled at Blue Eyes. "I'd also say, it's time for my break. Mind sharing a table?"

Blue Eyes glanced around the nearly empty restaurant and raised a curved eyebrow.

Ezekiel shrugged. "Saves on clean-up."

That earned him a laugh and another of those lovely smiles.

"Oh, well, if that's all you're after, then."

Blue Eyes collected his breakfast and moved to a table.

Ezekiel grinned to himself and followed. _Oh, I never said that._

*************

Colorado Springs, CO, 28 June 2002:

Ezekiel leaned forward in his seat concentrating on the projection screen behind the tall blonde woman who was lecturing from the podium. The young man in front of him shifted in his seat again and Ezekiel had to shift a little to the right to read the rest of the third line of the equation. Something was off on that line. . . Ah, there! He quickly jotted down the correction on the yellow legal pad resting on the seat's desktop. All in all, this lecture was everything he'd hoped for, but he had the feeling Major Samantha Carter was holding out on them -- not surprising, considering who paid her wages, but frustrating nonetheless. She was remarkably close with this, likely closer in reality, but he'd probably never get to find out.

He sat back as the major wound up her lecture and glanced at the man next to him, grinning widely. Kobol, but this felt good! He couldn't believe his luck. The aisles filled up as the audience began to disperse and Ezekiel leaned over to speak to his companion.

"Thanks for this, Daniel. I can't believe you got me into this lecture!"

"It wasn't a problem. I've got an in with the professor," Daniel said with one of his lopsided smiles.

The blue eyes sparkled and Ezekiel's breath caught in his throat. He'd only been in town three days when he'd looked up to see those eyes. They'd had this effect on him from the very start. He almost missed the next question.

"Want to say 'hi' to her?"

"What?"

Ezekiel did a small double-take as his companion stood and called out over the heads of the last stragglers.

"Sam!"

Major Carter craned her neck to see into the upper row, smiled and waved. She had been speaking to two men in Air Force uniforms, but politely excused herself and made her way up the aisle, smiling. "Daniel, you made it!"

Daniel stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his chinos. "I told you I would," he said with a smile. "Ah, there's someone here who'd like to meet you."

Ezekiel rose quickly, stuffing his legal pad into the space between the seat and its frame for safekeeping. He offered his hand in greeting and was gratified by the major's firm clasp.

"Um, I'm very pleased to meet you," he stuttered. He could feel himself flushing. He gestured awkwardly toward the front of the lecture hall. "I was impressed by your presentation."

Daniel nudged his arm and grinned evilly. "He's a groupie."

"Ah, jeez, Daniel," Ezekiel protested and flushed harder. "Ezekiel Adams."

Daniel stood back and watched his two friends chatting together. He knew he'd pleased Ezekiel and it felt good. In the few months since they'd met, he'd never seen Ezekiel as excited about anything as he'd been about this lecture and it had been easy enough to arrange with Sam for a second visitor's pass into the Academy lecture hall for him.

Sam glanced at Daniel curiously, but was her usual gracious self for a few moments longer before wishing Ezekiel a good night. "Don't forget, Daniel, we have an early briefing tomorrow."

Daniel winced. "Six a.m. How could I forget?"

"See you then," she said with a waggle of her fingers.

He turned back to Ezekiel, who smiled softly at him. "Actually, I've got to run, too, Daniel. Early shift tomorrow. I'll see you this weekend?"

"Ah, actually, no. I'm going on a. . . business trip," Daniel answered as the two men walked to the door. "Leaving tomorrow, as a matter of fact."

"Oh. Where to, or shouldn't I ask?"

Daniel wrinkled his nose. "Yeah. . ."

Ezekiel nodded. "Never mind, then."

Almost two months in the man's bed and he still wasn't quite sure what it was that Daniel did at the Mountain. It was another thing he probably would never know. Daniel was a civilian linguist, working for the Air Force, and according to Daniel that was the extent of it, although he was quite sure that Daniel's frequent "business trips" to undisclosed locales were not the usual sort of assignment for NORAD linguists. Not to mention the scars.

The scars had been frightening. Ezekiel was firmly convinced that there was no fear like the fear of a displaced alien who undressed his lover for the first time and found the puckered and mottled scar from a plasma burn. He'd covered his reaction quickly, but Daniel had seen it and had tried to explain it away as an old burn sustained in a bad auto accident. Ezekiel knew a scar from an energy weapon when he saw one. The lie had almost been enough. He'd come close to running, but there was something compelling about the other man. Despite the lies, despite the frequent absences with no good explanation, Ezekiel felt unaccountably safe with Daniel Jackson, grounded in a way he hadn't for the last seven years. The feeling was an unaccustomed luxury. He'd needed it.

_Besides, it wasn't time yet._

So, he'd stayed with Daniel and their friendly, comfortable relationship and the gamble had paid off for once. No sudden turns, no NID knee-breakers climbing through his bedroom window, just a good friend and great sex, and now a chance to attend a lecture by one of the unacknowledged leaders of Earth's astrophysics field.

With a few more strokes of this kind of luck, he might eventually be able to pull enough data together to figure out what went wrong.

The men chatted on their way to the visitor's parking lot. Ezekiel leaned against the door of his car, not quite wanting to call an end to the evening. The conversation paused and Daniel shuffled slightly.

"Well, I'd better..." Daniel motioned toward his own car parked a couple of spaces away.

"Yeah." Ezekiel glanced around, then asked, "how long will you be gone?"

"Just a few days," Daniel said. "I'll be getting back just before midnight next Friday. Which reminds me. What are you doing that weekend?"

"No plans that can't be changed, why?"

"Jack's having a barbecue. I thought if you wanted... it would be a good time for the two of you to meet officially," Daniel said. He sounded hopeful.

Ezekiel cringed. "I don't know, Daniel. I think Jack saw way more of me than he wanted to when we met unofficially."

Daniel grinned at the memory and scratched at one eyebrow. "Ye-ah, that was...unfortunate. He was, um, a bit startled."

Ezekiel laughed. "Startled? I thought he was going to strangle me with his bare hands."

"He knocks before he comes in, now."

Ezekiel nodded. "That's... that's good."

Ezekiel had managed to never sleep over at Daniel's apartment again.

"He knows I'm inviting you, Ezekiel. We've had a chance to talk and he's fine with it."

"You're sure? I don't want to make things difficult for you."

"It'll be fine. There'll just be a few of us from the Mountain and some of the others will be bringing their wives or partners, too."

"Partners, huh?" Warmth blossomed in Ezekiel's chest. He knew the smile growing across his face could only be sappy at best but couldn't stop it.

It was okay, though, because the smile on Daniel's face was just as silly when he answered softly, "Yeah, partners."

"I guess it's a date, then," Ezekiel answered just as softly. "Be careful, Daniel."

"Always."

Ezekiel sat in his own vehicle and watched Daniel drive away.

_You can't have this, Zee. You don't get this kind of luck._

_Eleven days left._

*****************

Sam glanced down as she passed the row of seats where Daniel and his - friend - had been sitting. Daniel's jacket was still draped over the back of his seat. She stopped to pick it up, mentally shaking her head over her friend's absent-mindedness.

_I can't believe he brought a date._

The yellow legal pad caught her eye as she picked up the jacket and she pulled it out of its hiding place. It must have belonged to Daniel's friend; she'd give it to Daniel tomorrow when she returned his jacket. She glanced down at Ezekiel's notes and then looked more closely. There was a change in one of her equations that...

_Holy Hannah_.

************

Ezekiel ran his hand through his hair and tugged at the short ends.

_How could you have left it behind? Stupid!_

_It was an accident!_

_You're thirty-six, not five! You can't afford accidents!_

_Deep breaths. Calm down._

It was probably found by the cleaning crew. The chances of anyone who knew what they were looking at finding the legal pad were next to zero.

Ezekiel allowed himself a few moments of anxious pacing before forcing himself to sit calmly in one of the straight-backed dinette chairs. His deck of cards sat on the table in front of him and his fingers itched to pick it up. He glanced at the clock. It was after midnight.

_Ten days._

_**************_

Cheyenne Mountain, CO, 5 July 2002:

The SGC locker rooms were almost empty this afternoon, unusual for the time of day, but Daniel wasn't complaining. He pulled on the fresh shirt he'd stowed in his locker before leaving for P4X-992 and rubbed an appraising hand over his chin. Not too bad, but it wouldn't hurt to shave before heading over to Ezekiel's apartment. He retrieved his shaving kit from the locker and moved over to the sinks that lined one wall.

Jack O'Neill paused in his own shaving to glance at Daniel. "Doin' anything tonight?"

Daniel met his friend's eyes in the mirror and smiled. "Thought I'd go over to Ezekiel's apartment and surprise him."

He glanced up again and sighed at the expression on Jack's face. "Damn it, Jack, I thought we'd resolved this."

"Daniel..." O'Neill stopped and rinsed his razor before continuing, but Daniel interrupted.

"Is it because he's a guy?"

"Daniel, you know that's not it. For one thing, you know I've read your file; I already knew about that guy in Chicago, and the one at that dig in Africa, so it's not exactly a shock. For another, everyone here's been around the galaxy a few too many times to let something like this bug us. You could take up with a Chulakian sheep farmer -- hell, you could probably take up with the Chulakian _sheep_ and no one around here would bat an eye."

"Oh, thanks for that image!" Daniel complained.

O'Neill grinned for a moment before getting serious again. "It's just... How well do you know this guy?"

"Well enough."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Daniel."

Daniel rinsed out the razor and shook it vigorously over the sink, glaring obstinately at O'Neill's reflection.

O'Neill finished and rinsed off the bits of foam and began to pat his face dry with one of the thin white towels.

"C'mon, Daniel. What do you know about him? Who's his family? Where's he from?"

"He was raised by a grandfather and then by his half-sister. He's lived in California, Maryland, Massacheusetts and New York before coming here to Colorado. He holds a doctorate in physics from Columbia, and did his undergraduate and masters work at MIT. And yes, I checked out his academic credentials. They're for real."

O'Neill grimaced. "I thought he worked at a Starbuck's?"

"He does. He's a barista at the one around the corner from my apartment."

"Now, see? What's a guy with a PhD in physics doing slinging java?"

Daniel sighed irritably. "A lot of people with advanced degrees find that there isn't much use for them outside of academia and end up in completely different fields."

"Yeah? So what's his sob story?"

"God, Jack!" Daniel tossed down his own towel and shoved his shaving kit roughly into his locker. He slammed the door loudly and tossed himself down on the bench next to O'Neill.

"If you must know, about a year after he earned his doctorate, there was an accident of some kind. He lost what was left of his family within a few months of each other. He was away for a couple of months taking care of family business, then returned to find his half-sister had gone missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes, missing. She was an investigative reporter for the Washington Post. He came home and found her phones turned off and her apartment empty. Her editor said she'd emailed in a resignation a couple of weeks before. He filed a missing person's report, but nothing's ever come of it." Daniel raised a hand to forestall O'Neill's next question. "Yes, I checked that out, too.

"Anyway, he says he got kind of lost for a while after that. By the time he resurfaced, it was a couple of years later and he'd burned all of his professional bridges."

O'Neill shook his head. "Guy's got issues, Danny," he said warningly.

"Yes, don't we all?"

"Daniel..."

"No, Jack. Just... don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't start with me, Jack."

"Wounded birds," O'Neill pronounced significantly.

Daniel hung his head. "Oh, God..."

"You always go for 'em, Daniel. You know it as well as I do and they're nothing but trouble," O'Neill warmed to his subject.

"Jack..."

"Shyla, Daniel." O'Neill glared at his friend. "K'era, Daniel. The Destroyer of Worlds."

"Were on other planets, Jack. Ezekiel is right here in the middle of Colorado Springs."

O'Neill threw up his hands. "Oh, and of course nothing bad can happen in Colorado Springs! Hathor, Daniel."

"Damn it, Jack! I do _not_ want to get into this with you!"

O'Neill subsided with ill grace. Daniel was absolutely refusing to see reason on this, and it wasn't the first time. The man would get an idea into his head and off he went. Sometimes O'Neill just wanted to throttle him.

O'Neill grunted noncommitally. "So's Ziggy coming over tomorrow?"

Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed at his right eye. Did Jack have any clue how juvenile he sounded sometimes? He replaced the glasses and shot O'Neill a withering glare.

"His name's Ezekiel, Jack," Daniel reminded him with exaggerated patience.

"So's he coming tomorrow?"

Daniel grinned. "I may have to tie him up and drag him, but, yeah, he's coming."

"What? Drag someone to one of my shindigs? I'm offended!"

Daniel pushed the door open for the two of them as they headed for the elevators. "You kind of intimidated him the last time you met, Jack."

"He was intimidated? I've got a wet, naked guy swinging a bat at my head in the middle of your living room and he was intimidated?"

"He thought you were a burgler. Next time, knock."

"Guy's lucky to be alive," O'Neill muttered.

"That's why he was intimidated," Daniel agreed.

"Daniel!" Sam Carter's voice stopped them just as the elevator doors opened. Daniel turned as she jogged up the hall. "Sorry, I forgot. I have your jacket in my office."

"Oh?"

"You left it in the lecture hall last Thursday night. Actually, your friend left something, too. Is there a way I could talk to him for a while?" Sam asked.

"Um, sure, he'll be at Jack's tomorrow. Why?"

"Well, he was taking notes during the lecture and he changed a couple of lines of the equations." Sam laughed and ran a hand through her hair. "In fact, he solved a problem that's had me stumped for a couple of months now. I'd really like to get a chance to discuss it with him."

"Oh! Well, I'm sure he'd be happy... What am I saying, he'd be thrilled," Daniel said with a small shake of his head. "I was just heading out..."

"That's okay. I'll bring the jacket and note pad to the colonel's house tomorrow," Sam offered.

"Okay, thanks, Sam."

Daniel smiled softly to himself as he and O'Neill allowed the elevator doors to close. The elevator rose a few levels before O'Neill broke the silence.

"Daniel...You took a date to a lecture?" O'Neill turned his head to study his friend, who flushed under the sardonic gaze. "You took a date to one of _Carter's_ lectures? Only you."

*********

Ezekiel climbed the stairs quickly; he'd wanted to cut down the number of trips so he'd balanced the two baskets of laundry together, but the load was heavy and the knee was starting to stiffen up on him. The laundry baskets started to slip as he cleared the last step then hit the ground when large dark shape appeared on the shady landing to his left, on his weak side. Ezekiel spun that direction, fist already raised and stopped himself just in time.

"Whoa, there." Daniel easily blocked Ezekiel's pulled punch. "Little jumpy this afternoon?"

"Shit, Daniel, don't come up on me like that!" His knee protested loudly as he knelt to snatch up the fallen clothing and supplies and Daniel stooped to help. He found himself staring at Daniel's hands as they worked. "This isn't the best neighborhood, you know. There've been break-ins."

A small lie, but nothing that hadn't already passed between them.

"You're early. I didn't think you'd be coming in til late tonight."

Daniel shrugged. "Things wrapped up earlier than we expected, so I caught an earlier flight."

"You should have called. I could have met you." Ezekiel balanced one basket on the railing at the top of the stairs while Daniel held the other. He unlocked the door and kicked it open wider, then shouldered his way in with the laundry and stood there a moment trying to slow his racing heartbeat.

_Warning. Warning would have been nice._

Daniel took his own basket to the couch, then deposited Ezekiel's basket with it. He reached out and caught the other man by the hips and pulled them together, hip to hip and chest to chest. Ezekiel's hands came up to rest on the trim waist as Daniel leaned in for a soft kiss. Daniel pulled back. "I wanted to surprise you," he whispered against Ezekiel's lips.

Ezekiel leaned against Daniel, burying his face against his neck, as much to still the residual adrenaline shakes as for the contact. "I'm surprised," he whispered back. Suddenly, all he wanted was Daniel's skin under his hands.

Daniel grinned and dropped his head back as Ezekiel's mouth trailed across his throat. He pushed his hips into Ezekiel's, enjoying the small gasp from the other man as their groins rubbed together. Ezekiel's hands slid down over Daniel's hips and around to massage his ass and Daniel felt a soft groan escape. Ezekiel murmured something against Daniel's throat when warm fingers tugged at the tail of his shirt and slipped under to find the bare skin beneath. Daniel hands slid under his lover's shirt to caress the leanly muscled back and around to Ezekiel's belly, then out to deal with the buttons. Ezekiel shrugged the shirt off of his shoulders and took Daniel's face in gentle hands as he kissed him deeply. Daniel manuvered them through the bedroom door and across the floor until his lover's knees hit the edge of the bed and then gently urged Ezekiel down onto the bed.

Ezekiel's eyes drifted closed for a second then opened to see Daniel still standing at the end of the bed watching him. Daniel slowly kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off of his shoulders. It slid to the ground behind him with a soft noise.

Ezekiel sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face into the bulge in his lover's crotch. He relished the soft sigh Daniel made and the feeling of Daniel's hands carding through his hair. He looked up into Daniel's eyes and watched his face as he slipped the button on Daniel's jeans free and carefully lowered the zipper closure. He closed his eyes again as heat and the smell of musk rose to meet him. Daniel's hands left his hair for a moment and Ezekiel leaned back just far enough for Daniel to push the jeans and underwear to the floor and kick them away.

Ezekiel ran his hands up the back of Daniel's firm thighs as he leaned in and nipped at the soft flesh just above the thick pubic hair. Daniel's abdominal muscles rippled and his cock brushed against the side of Ezekiel's face, leaving a wet smear. Ezekiel turned his head and licked his way up the thick, stiff cock and Daniel choked out a soft curse and clutched at the dark blond hair beneath his hands. The sensation went straight to Ezekiel's groin. He pulled one hand back to unfasten his own jeans, suddenly glad for neglected laundry and empty underwear drawers. Teasing Daniel with suckling kisses along the length of his cock, Ezekiel freed his own aching dick and slipped his hand along it's length. He looked up to meet Daniel's darkened eyes and slack, panting mouth once more, then reached up and angled Daniel's weeping cock into his mouth.

Daniel's glutes and thigh muscles clenched in the effort to still the urge to thrust into Ezekiel's warm, wet mouth. He looked down at Ezekiel's head bent over his cock, one hand holding the base while his other arm moved rythmically lower still, in his own lap. He felt the tension building in his balls in response to Ezekiel's sucking and gasped out a warning. "God, Ezekiel. Coming." Instead of pulling back, Ezekiel sucked harder and Daniel's control slipped, then Ezekiel's hips bucked and wet warmth shot up between them, splashing onto Daniel's thighs and balls. He whimpered as Ezekiel released his spent cock and moved down to lap his own semen from Daniel's body as Daniel clutched his shoulders for support.

Daniel lowered himself heavily to the bed beside his lover and pulled him into a lingering kiss. At length, Ezekiel pulled back and raised his hips to shove the soiled denim off, but Daniel stopped him, catching his hands and pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head while slipping a possessive leg between Ezekiel's to nudge his wet crotch.

"Daniel, they're sticky," Ezekiel protested.

Daniel kissed along Ezekiel's throat until he found his ear. "It's a good look on you."

Ezekiel chuckled. "Wet and messy is a good look?"

He could feel Daniel's grin against his neck.

"Wet. . . Sticky. . . Sated. . . Wanton. . . Debauched," Daniel whispered, punctuating each declaration with a small kiss or nip and the gusting breaths made Ezekiel's flesh tingle. Wrapped in each other, they slipped into sleep.

*********

The bedside clock showed twelve-thirty-six when Ezekiel finally roused enough to slide from under Daniel's arm and divest himself of the soiled jeans. As he padded into the bathroom, his eyes fell on the deck of cards resting on the bureau.

_Three days._

He relieved himself and sponged off at the sink. He made the rounds of the apartment twice. Door, living room window, bedroom window. His eyes adjusted to the dark enough to make out the shape of Daniel's profile on the pillow. He watched his lover sleep for a few minutes, then made one more round of the apartment before returning to bed.

Daniel shifted in his sleep and roused briefly.

"'S'okay?" he asked groggily.

Ezekiel's lips quirked in what might have been a smile.

"Yeah."

Daniel's right hand slid up between them and caught Ezekiel's, the palm and forefinger callouses dragging against Ezekiel's less specifically roughened skin. He settled back into sleep with their fingers laced together.

_He's beautiful._

_He's probably a plant, Zee, and this thing this afternoon is probably a trap._

_I know._

*********

O'Neill was surveying his backyard from behind the grill when his cell phone chimed.

"O'Neill."

"Colonel. This is Major Davis."

"Major. What can I do for you?"

"I've recieved some of the information you requested last week."

"Hold on a minute, Davis. T! Watch the grill for me, will ya?" O'Neill retreated to his den for the rest of the call. "Okay, out with it."

"At first glance, sir, Ezekiel Adams seems to be who he says he is. He does hold a doctorate from Columbia and he is an MIT graduate. He did have a sister, Jamie Hamilton, who disappeared seven years ago. The Arlington police were interested in him for that but could never place him in the area - or anywhere else for that matter - at the time of her disappearance. There's been no sign of her since the report was filed and no activity on her Social Security number, passport or credit cards. If she disappeared willingly, she's gone completely off grid.

"For the last few years, Dr. Adams has been wandering from place to place, apparently at random. He turned up in Chicago for a while, then in San Antonio a few months later, then he fell off the grid entirely himself until he turned up in Colorado Springs. Sir, may I ask why your interested in Dr. Adams?"

"Later. You said 'at first glance'?" O'Neill prompted.

"Yes, sir. Everything seemed to be in order until I went back a bit further. Ezekiel Adams has pretty much the kind of paper trail you'd expect, sir, but there's something just a bit off about it."

"How so?"

"I took a look at his background before college. It's just a bit too pat for my taste. There's everything I'd expect to see, nothing more and nothing less. It's almost like someone made a shopping list of the kind of documentation that would be needed to create a person and filled it. There are no extras, no copies of innoculation records forgotten anywhere, no bits and pieces. I checked out his high school records and several of his teachers remember having him in their classes. Before high school, none of them do. Also, I spoke to several people who knew Jamie Hamilton when she was growing up in Chicago. They all insist that she had no brother, sir. She was an only child."

"So, before high school, he's a cypher. How old was he?"

"Fourteen, sir. I checked with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children and with the FBI; there's no record of an abduction or run-away fitting his description, but..."

"But he could have been either one," O'Neill finished for him. He sighed and scratched at his short-cropped hair. "If he was abducted as a child, that would certainly give him a motive for offing his 'sister' and either could explain the disappearing act he's been doing. Crap."

Voices wafted through the door from the main area of the house. Soft at first, they suddenly became more agitated and O'Neill stiffened when he heard Adams' voice rising.

"Shit! Major, I'm gonna have to call back. No, belay that. Call the Mountain and have a security detail sent to my home." He closed the phone and pulled open the desk drawer where he kept one of his personal weapons. He slid the door open and stepped out, the 9 milimeter held low and out of sight.

***********

"Captain Alonzo, enjoying yourself?"

Chris looked up from doctoring his burger to see Capt. Waters from SG-5 waving a cold beer in his direction. He grinned and took it. "Thanks, Bill. And, yes, I am. Colonel O'Neill throws quite a party."

"Oh, yes. They're legendary," Waters drawled, his eyes roving over the crowded yard. "Anyone here you haven't met?"

"Yeah, a few. I'm working my way around." Chris took a bite of burger and looked around casually. Then he looked again. "Hey, Bill?"

"Yeah?" Waters tore his eyes away from the small group of ladies laughing on the colonel's deck chairs.

"Who's that guy over there with Dr. Jackson?"

Waters craned his neck to see where Alonzo was looking. The guy was about Dr. J's height and coloring but slighter with lean angular features. As they watched, Dr. Jackson leaned over and said something to him, pointing to Major Ferretti. The guy laughed and ducked his head before taking a drink from the bottle of beer he was holding.

"Dunno. New geek, maybe?"

Chris chewed thoughtfully. "Maybe."

He kept half an eye on the pair for a while until the man rose from his seat. Dr. Jackson half rose to follow but the other man waved him back into his seat, motioning toward the house with his thumb. Chris let him make it through the sliding glass door before nudging Waters.

"Hey. I'm gonna go find the head."

Waters waved a careless hand at him. "Knock yourself out, Chris."

The interior of Colonel O'Neill's house was dark in comparison to the bright sunlit yard. Chris moved to one side as he entered to allow a giggling Cassandra Fraiser and one of Master Sgt. Petty's daughters to pass him on their way out, then carefully slid the door closed. There was a light under the door of the downstairs half-bath and the sound of running water. Chris slid into the shadow of the staircase next to the door. The man didn't notice him as he left the room and passed into the dining room on his way to the kitchen.

"Dr. Zee?"

**************

Ezekiel washed his hands quickly, a small smile playing across his lips. He'd been standing at his own bathroom sink this morning, letting the water warm a bit before shaving, when Dan's thick arm had wound firmly around his waist. He'd felt his lover's cock, erect and wet with lube, against his buttocks and had parted his thighs to allow Daniel to slip his lubed right hand in to slick them with the cool gel. Daniel had slid his dick between Ezekiel's thighs and then his own cock had throbbed in Dan's moist, calloused palm as the blunt head nudged his balls. Warm lips had moved across the back of his neck and shoulders and Ezekiel had clutched the edge of the counter for support. Ezekiel had watched in the mirror as their two bodies moved together, Dan thrusting between Ezekiel's clinched thighs at the same time Ezekiel's cock fucked his hand. Ezekiel had raised his eyes to meet Daniel's reflected gaze, dark with arousal. Then they'd both needed another shower.

He chuckled as his cock gave a twitch at the memory and wondered about the likelihood of getting Daniel in here for a quick reprisal, but dismissed the idea. Jack had been a genial host this afternoon, but gay sex in the downstairs loo would probably be pushing the envelope of the older man's hospitality a bit far. He noticed the open door into the kitchen as he left the bathroom and decided to help himself to one of the sodas Jack had set to cooling earlier. He'd had one beer already and the day was hot; couldn't risk getting buzzed.

"Dr. Zee?"

Ezekiel froze in his tracks, heart hammering in his throat. There were only a handful of people on this planet who knew him by that name. Most of them, he didn't want to meet. He considered simply ignoring the voice coming out of the shadows behind him and bolting, but a quick gauge of the distances told him that the stranger in the house would make it to him before he could make it to any of the exits. He gritted his teeth and turned.

"It's you, isn't it?" The man moved out of the shadows. He was a bit shorter than Ezekiel, but broader across the shoulders. His face was round and bland with a dark complexion and darker hair. He studied the brown eyes and recognized the man with a shock.

"Chris." The name came out on a raspy croak and Ezekiel's throat constricted, cutting off anything else he might have said. He swallowed convulsively.

***************

Chris hadn't been sure until this moment. He'd known about when the Colonial Fleet was supposed to come back and he'd watched the sky and the news reports, but nothing had happened. He'd joined the Air Force because he'd remembered Troy telling him that was where it would all happen; the warrior had been more right than he could have known. When he'd been assigned to Stargate Command, Chris had searched the databases and mission reports for any word, but there'd been nothing, not a single mention of the Galactica or the Colonial refugees. And now, standing here in his commanding officer's home, was Zee.

Hazel eyes sought him in the dim light and Chris took a couple of steps toward him. He saw the moment the Colonial scientist recognised him; Ezekiel paled and gasped his name, then took a slow step back towards the door.

Chris studied the man in front of him. Something was very wrong, here. He remembered Zee from that first year that he was stranded on Earth. Ms Hamilton had visited a few times that year and sometimes when she had to go away on assignment she'd dropped Zee off to stay with the Alonzo family. Although Chris was the younger of the two, he had taken it upon himself to teach Zee about living in America and the young scientist had slowly unwound over those visits. The two boys had become friends of a sort before Ms Hamilton had taken a job in New York and she and Zee had moved away. As a boy, Zee had always been eerily self-possessed and confident, but the man before him was anything but. As a matter of fact, he was alarmingly close to panic and all because an old childhood friend had shown up unexpectedly. An uncomfortable suspicion started to work its way into Chris' mind.

"Zee? What are you doing here?"

Ezekiel's mind blanked on the words for a second and he motioned dumbly toward the patio doors and the party still going on beyond. Towards Daniel. Abruptly, his mouth found the right language again and he stuttered out, "I - I'm a guest. I'm here with Dan -- with Dr. Jackson. We're together. . . here together. . ."

Chris's face went blank in a way Ezekiel had come to dread seeing on Earth's humans. It was an odd expression that he'd never seen among his own people and it never seemed to bode well. It always confused him because he couldn't read the thoughts behind it, but each time it appeared, pain and violence had followed.

Chris frowned at him. "You mean you and Dr. J are _together_ together, too, right?"

Ezekiel nodded silently, his eyes never leaving Chris'. "Please, Chris. . ." He didn't even know exactly what he was pleading for. He backed away another step, trying to edge his way around the dining room table and toward the closed patio door, shaking his head in denial.

Chris' hand darted out and caught his arm in a tight grip, stopping his movement.

"Where are the others, Zee? Are they here on Earth?"

Chris' voice was soft and cajoling, but his face was hard. Ezekiel shook his head and glanced longingly for the bright patio. He could see Daniel outside looking toward the house. He didn't think Daniel could see this far, not from his angle, but Ezekiel knew he'd been gone too long already. It was only a matter of time before Daniel came looking for him, and then everything would be undone.

Chris followed Ezekiel's eyes toward the man outside and his heart sank. He pulled the other man closer and hissed furiously, "Tell me this isn't what I think it is, Zee."

"Wh--what?" Ezekiel stared at him in confusion.

Chris' voice hardened with restrained anger. "Tell me you aren't climbing into that man's bed just so you can get close to this project!"

The accusation shocked Ezekiel. "What? No! God, no!" He shook off Chris' hand and started backing away from him again. "What are you talking about?"

Chris stared at him. "You're telling me you don't know anything about the program?"

"God, Chris!" Ezekiel shouted. "What program?! What are you talking about?"

"Where are they, Zee? Just tell me what's going on!"

"They didn't make it, okay? They didn't make it. . . I'm all that's left."

************

Daniel looked back toward the house once more. It had taken a while, but Ezekiel had finally begun to relax after the first couple of hours. Daniel was frankly puzzled by the man's tension; it was almost like Ezekiel had been waiting for something to happen. Daniel was determined that once they were alone again the two of them were going to sit down and talk about whatever it was that was bothering him. Daniel turned back to the man opposite him.

"Hey, Lou, I'm just gonna -- " He motioned for the door.

"Make sure he didn't fall in?" the major finished cheekily.

"Something like that," Daniel replied with a small smile.

A couple of steps toward the door brought him up short. He could just see Ezekiel and another man standing inside the dining room. The man leaned in and grabbed Ezekiel's arm, whispering. Daniel turned and caught Ferretti's eye and motioned him over.

"Lou, isn't that one of your guys in there?"

At that moment, Ezekiel tore his arm from the other man's grasp and tried to back away. Daniel could hear his raised voice through the insulated glass, and though the words were incomprehensible from where he was standing, the tone wasn't.

Beside him, Ferretti growled, "Yeah, Alonzo. Started about a month ago, still goin' through shakedown. Damn it. . ." He broke off and both men headed for the door.

As he slid the door quietly open, Daniel could hear Alonzo's voice and caught the tail end of Ezekiel's reply. Ezekiel's attention was on Captain Alonzo and he missed the movement as Daniel and Ferretti slipped into the house.

"They didn't make it. I'm all that's left." His lover's voice choked on the last phrase and he combed a hand through his hair and tugged, a signal of anxiety that Daniel knew well.

"Oh, man. . ." Alonzo looked stunned, gaping silently at Ezekiel. He swung around to pace. "Oh, man. . ."

"Got a problem, here, Captain Alonzo?" Ferretti barked and both men spun to face him.

Alonzo stared at his commanding officer for a second before coming to attention. "Major Ferretti, sir," he rapped out. He glanced involuntarily at Ezekiel once more.

Ezekiel's eyes caught Daniel's and his face twisted for an instant before he visibly pulled himself together. "Daniel. . ." It came out as a pained gasp. He'd let himself believe. He'd been so tired and he'd just wanted to believe, just for a moment.

_And this is what you get, Zee. It's happening. This is it. _

_Oh, God, Daniel. . ._

Daniel froze for a moment, shocked by Ezekiel's bleak expression. There was an accusation of betrayal in his lover's eyes that he couldn't fathom. His attention snapped back to Alonzo when the man spoke again, crisply.

"Sir, I have information that is pertinent to our current assignment."

Ezekiel's head whipped around. "Chris, no," he pleaded. "Please, Chris. Please don't. . ."

"Zee, you gotta trust me," Alonzo answered earnestly. "It's gonna be okay, buddy, but you have to trust me."

Ezekiel caught movement at the door to the den and tracked O'Neill as the colonel slowly sidled into the room behind Alonzo. Between the three of them, Ferretti, O'Neill and Alonzo were effectively blocking his exits. He was boxed in. Daniel started moving towards him warily and he swung around again towards him.

There was a window behind Daniel. Ezekiel ran over his mental map of the yard. The window opened into a side yard. There was a fence; if he could get over that. . .

O'Neill watched the man's body language, keeping the 9 mil he'd pulled from its hiding place just in case on his way through the house down and out of his line of sight. Alonzo was keeping up a steady prattle, but O'Neill could tell that it wasn't getting through. He saw him sizing up the window into the side yard; he was going to bolt.

"Zee, c'mon, man, we can help," Alonzo pleaded with his friend. "We can help you find them."

Ezekiel laughed suddenly. "There's no one to find, Chris! They're all gone!"

Daniel moved again and called softly. "Ezekiel, I need you to listen to me. Ezekiel!"

Ezekiel licked his lips reflexively as his head swiveled back to Daniel. Daniel was talking to him, his voice soft. It was the voice he heard at night, laying in their bed, as Daniel talked him to sleep with his stories about gods and men. Ezekiel wanted to be back there again. God, he wished he could do this morning over. He wished he could do his life over, take it all back. He wasn't ready to die.

"You're gonna have to explain things to me, Ezekiel, because I don't know what's going on here, okay?" Daniel moved a little closer. "Who's gone?"

"My people." Ezekiel whispered the answer unthinkingly.

Daniel blinked for an instant before regaining his mental footing.

"O-kay. What happened to your people? Where did they go?"

Ezekiel grimaced.

"I killed them," he said. He backed up a step, but caught sight of Alonzo moving closer out of the corner of his eye. He slipped a hand into his pocket and fingered the two sets of small paired glass disks he carried for emergencies.

O'Neill caught the movement and brought his weapon up to train it on Ezekiel's chest, shouting a warning, "Down!"

Daniel was there, cursing loudly, "Damn it, Jack!"

"He's going for something in his pocket, Daniel!"

"Ezekiel. . ."

O'Neill's voice over-rode Daniel's. "Pull it out, Adams. Slowly. You're not going anywhere, so let's see what you've got."

The trembling in his hands stopped as Ezekiel met O'Neill's eyes. He pulled out his hand and, with a flick of his thumb, activated one of the small devices. The disks separated swiftly and swung away from each other, connected to the center pin in Ezekiel's hand only by a strand of energy that glowed in the dim light. The glass disks began to pulse in time with Ezekiel's racing heart and a high-pitched whine filled the room.

"Whoa! What the _hell_ is that?"

"Ah, man!" Chris stared in disbelief. "Zee, are those what I think they are? Are those some of those Nomen things you told me about? The bolas?"

Ezekiel looked from O'Neill to Chris and tried again. "Chris, you've gotta let me out of here. Please."

"Zee, I can't do that. I'm trying to help, here, but I've gotta tell you, man, you're not makin' it easy. Now, I remember you telling me about those things. It was that summer, wasn't it, summer of '82. Ms Hamilton had to go out of town and she dropped you off with Mama and Papa and me and Gloria. You remember that summer, buddy? We went all over that valley together, didn't we?"

"No, Chris. Please. Not like this." Ezekiel winced at what Chris was doing. He'd loved that summer; it had been the first truly care-free time in his life and Chris had been a huge part of it. Now, Chris was using those memories against him, using them to betray him.

"Not like what, man? We're just talkin', right?" Alonzo moved forward another half-step. "We're just two old friends talkin', right? You gotta trust me, Zee. Just put that thing away, okay?"

"Three days, Chris! Just three days! I'll be gone by Wednesday!"

"Now, those things there, they've got an explosive charge, don't they?" Chris continued. He heard Major Ferretti curse softly. He wasn't sure what Zee meant by being gone in three days and that worried him, but his commanding officers needed information about that weapon. "That bit in the middle sticks to whatever it touches and then the charge blows, right?"

Ezekiel shook his head.

"C'mon. It's me. It's Chris. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Ezekiel ground it out between clenched teeth. "You're working me into a corner so your superiors can hand me over to the NID and I'm supposed to trust you?"

Chris blinked and snapped a look back at the major. Ferretti looked just as confused as Chris felt.

O'Neill's voice sounded behind him. "Who said anything about the NID?"

Chris shook his head. "Zee, no one's turning anyone over to the NID. We're Air Force, here. No NID."

"Slydell was Air Force," Ezekiel snapped out accusingly.

"Who?" O'Neill snapped.

"I don't know that name, Zee. It's not one I remember. Help me out, here, okay?"

The whine from the bolas changed pitch and the pulsing became more erratic. Ezekiel glanced down at them. They couldn't be turned off, now. He'd have to throw them soon to discharge the power build-up. Damn it, he didn't want to hurt anyone here. He just wanted out.

O'Neill's voice roared out. "Who's Slydell?"

"Brigadeer General Vernon Slydell!" Ezekiel roared back. "He was supposed to be our fucking laison! We saved his miserable life! I called him for help after Jamie went missing and an hour later, I've got NID kicking in my goddamned door!"

O'Neill moved at that moment and Ezekiel didn't really think about it. He just threw the bolas. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the tendril of energy spun through the room and wrapped itself around O'Neill's arm. The man cursed as his hand spasmed, tossing the weapon it had held to the floor. There was a flash of light and a loud popping sound and the smell of scorched cotton and hair and then Daniel's strong arm was wrapped around Ezekiel's chest pinning his free arm to his side and his hand clutched Ezekiel's trembling wrist to shake the second set of bolas to the ground. Then Daniel was gone and someone was pinning Ezekiel's arms behind him as he twisted and kicked in his grip and Murray's deep voice rumbled in his ear like distant thunder in summer, "Be still, EzekielAdams. No one here will harm you."

He was wrong, Ezekiel knew. The harm was already done.

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 2: Adrift

Adrift

**Colonial Fleet, Celestra, Fleet Academy Life Center:**

His throat was dry.

Troy tried to swallow to relieve the dryness and choked a little on his own saliva.

"Sh-sh-sh, Boxey. Easy does it, son."

A strong arm moved behind his shoulder and eased him up just a bit, enough to help him clear his throat. He coughed once more, then eased back down onto the bed. Fingers brushed against his forehead to smooth away a stray lock of hair.

"How are you feeling?"

Troy took a moment to think about the answer. Now that his throat was clear, his head was hurting with an insistent throb. He shifted a bit, and his right shoulder offered a sullen twinge.

"Head hurts. Thirsty." His voice rasped in his throat.

There was a brief pause and a rustling sound, and then his father's voice returned. "I've sent for the medtech. Here."

He felt something cool and wet pressed against his lips and sucked a bit on the spongy material. Cool water flooded his mouth, and he swallowed it gratefully and sighed.

"Better?" Apollo asked. A hint of amusement colored his voice.

Troy nodded. "Hmm."

There was another rustling sound to his right, and the headache receded in a flow of warmth. A thought occurred to him, and he rolled it around a bit in his head as his father murmured his thanks to someone.

"Dad?"

The fingers were back, stroking his hair back from his face.

"Hmm?"

"Are my eyes open?"

"Not right now, no. They've been bandaged."

Troy frowned and reached up with one hand to gingerly finger the pads covering his eyes.

"You took a couple of pretty good knocks to the head, Boxey. There's still some swelling and some damage to the optic nerves. Dr. Tsani assures me that you'll be fine, but it will be a few cycles before the nerves are regenerated enough to be useful. The bandages are just in place to protect your eyes while the nerves are healing. Here, leave them alone." Apollo gently took Troy's hand in his and squeezed the fingers as he drew it away from the bandages. "You're lucky, son. When I was still flying with the squadrons, an injury like this would have left a man blind, if he survived at all. As it is, it was a close thing. It's a good thing Captain Rayne decided to slow down to catch the life pod instead of picking you up on this side."

"I'll have to remember to thank him," Troy said softly.

"Already done, but I'm sure he'd appreciate it from you as well."

Troy thought for a moment. He was sure he wasn't usually this slow. It was like his thoughts were struggling through a thick soup. He drifted for a centon or two on the edge of sleep.

"Life pod?" The words didn't make sense for a moment, and then they did as memory returned with blinding clarity. Troy gasped and surged up in the bed. "Zee! Frack!"

"Whoa! Easy, Boxey! Lay back down, son," Apollo soothed.

His father's hands and someone else's worked to ease him back into the bed. A monitor beeped furiously.

"Captain Troy, lie still, please," a woman's voice said firmly.

Troy gave his head an irritable shake, which only served to set the headache spiking again. He groped blindly and clutched at his father's arm. "Dad! Zee--did he make it into the pod?"

"You were the only one in the pod, son."

"Damn it!" Troy pounded a fist into the mattress beside him.

"Easy, easy," Apollo muttered.

"Dad, I had him in the pod," Troy said angrily. "He was strapped in, and we were talking about coming here for dinner, then that wormhole started... w-whatever it started doing. He was out so fast I couldn't catch him."

His fist clenched in the blanket as Troy fought to control his breathing. He took a deep breath. "Lords! I can't believe I screwed up this badly. Grandfather's going to be pissed."

There was a long pause during which Troy noticed that his father neither denied what he'd said nor tried to assuage his fears.

Apollo squeezed his son's hand again. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Zee said the wormhole was going to collapse. He threw off the restraints before I could stop him and yelled something about compensating for the disturbance. I climbed out of the pod and went to drag him back into it, but the vessel kept bouncing all over the place, and the artificial gravity couldn't keep up with it. It was all I could do to keep on my feet. I grabbed hold of him at one point, I think. I lost my grip..." He frowned, trying to pull back any further memories, but shook his head slowly. "That's it. That's all I remember, Dad."

"You didn't launch the pod?"

Troy paused, then shook his head again. "No, sir. I don't think there's any way I could have. I don't remember anything before waking up here."

"Then it stands to reason that Dr. Zee must have launched the pod himself. Do you think he planned it, son?" Apollo asked quietly, and Troy tensed at the probing tone.

"Planned what? The wormhole malfunction? No, he was as shocked as I was. I'm certain of that."

"How about being left behind? Commander Adama seems to think Dr. Zee was acting oddly in the cycles leading up to the jump."

Troy paused and moistened his lips before answering. "I don't believe so, sir," he said, his cool tone mimicking his father's slide into command formality. "I agree that Dr. Zee was acting in a manner that was at odds with his usual behavior, but I think it had more to do with..." He trailed off, searching for the correct way to phrase his thoughts.

Apollo allowed him a moment before prompting: "With?"

Troy grimaced and sighed. There was an undercurrent to this particular line of questioning that told him he needed to get this exactly right. It was a bit more than he wanted to deal with at the moment, but he gave it a shot.

"His behavior was no more out of character than it would be for any other fourteen-yahren-old. He was sullen, uncommunicative, and generally resentful of my presence. He accused the commander of not trusting his judgment. Honestly, sir, he was acting like an adolescent, and if he were anyone else, everyone would be rolling their eyes and muttering about rampant hormones. When I realized what was going on, I got to talking to him on that level, and he responded well. I'm confident that, when I had him in the life pod that first time, he was definitely planning on returning with me. He may have been fantasizing a bit about being a castaway on Earth, but I do not believe he intended to actually do anything about it."

"Ensign Jera?"

"Recorded, sir," a young man's voice answered -- his father's aide this term, probably. Troy hadn't known anyone else was with them and it rankled.

"Good. Clean it up and get it transcribed, then sign it as attested by Captain Troy, Galactica, Squadron Leader, Blue Squadron and witnessed by Commander Apollo, Celestra, Fleet Academy Commander, by yourself and by Lieutenant Dillon, Galactica, Blue Squadron. Agreed, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, yes, sir," Dillon's deeper voice answered quietly.

Troy's head swiveled towards the sound as his temper flared. How the hell many people were in here? He could hear the sound of Dillon's flight jacket shifting against the wall, now that he knew to listen for it. A boot heel tapped rapidly for a micron or two. The lieutenant knew Troy was pissed with him. Good.

"Send it encrypted to the Galactica, to Commander Adama's attention, eyes only," his father finished.

"By your leave, sir," Jera answered, and Troy listened as the sound of his footsteps receded. He was going to have to pay more attention to the sound of footsteps until he had use of his eyes again.

"That should keep him happy for a while," Apollo commented, and Troy felt the blanket being tugged higher onto his chest. His hand was briefly squeezed again; it was as much of an apology as he was going to get from his father. After a micron, he returned the pressure.

"You know he's not going to consider that a proper debriefing, Dad."

"He'll get over it. You can submit a formal report when you've had a chance to rest a bit. If he wants more sooner, he can send your Uncle Boomer over here to beat it out of you."

Apollo's tone was determinedly light, but still carried the brittle undercurrent that Troy had come to expect when his grandfather invaded a conversation. Troy sighed softly, and his father chose to interpret it as fatigue.

Apollo chuckled. "Well, the lieutenant is here for a visit, and Dr. Tsani is giving me the Aquarian Evil Eye, so I'd better let you get back to recuperating. Get some rest, Boxey," he said fondly.

"Just so you know, Dad, you've used up this sectar's 'Boxey' allotment," Troy said conversationally.

His father laughed softly. "As you wish, Troy. Good evening, Lieutenant."

"Sir," Dillon acknowledged.

Troy listened as his father's footsteps carried him out of earshot.

"How the hell long were you standing there?" he hissed angrily in English. He and Dillon should be the only two people on the ship who could speak the language, aside from possibly Apollo himself. He never knew what his Dad would take it into his head to learn.

"Troy, I swear, I'd just gotten here. He waved me in while they were trying to get you settled back in the bed. I had no idea he was going to do that," Dillon whispered earnestly.

Troy sighed heavily. His head was pounding again and not just from his injuries. He wondered wearily what his father had been fishing for this time; it made his stomach churn. Was Adama actually questioning Zee's loyalty, or were Apollo and the Old Man anticipating trouble from outside again? Or was it something else entirely? It would be nice to know ahead of time whether he was going to be expected to defend the family's position in front of the fleet or referee another one of his father and grandfather's interminable battles of will. Family politics were bad enough without tossing military and interfleet politics into the mix. Unfortunately, in his case, the three were often inextricably interwoven. Apollo had seemed pleased enough with Troy's answers, though.

"Sometimes he's too much his father's son," he muttered.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Dillon joked.

"We alone?"

Dillon paused and the edge of the bed dipped a bit under his weight. Troy knew from past experience that his wingman had moved to block the Life Station surveillance cameras. "We're clear; no one's around."

"So what's the scoop?"

"You've been out of it for about sixteen centars, Troy. Had us a little worried there, by the way."

Troy's mouth quirked up in response. "Sorry."

"Just don't do it again, okay? Warrior heads and bulkheads don't mix well." Dillon sighed and said bluntly, "Three of the ships didn't make it, and if Core Command knows what happened to them, they're not saying."

Troy's heart sank. _Three ships full of passengers, gone. Dear Lords._

Dillon continued swiftly. "All flights except the Academy Cadet Senior Squadrons are either out on patrol or in their ready rooms in preparation for patrol. CSS Alpha is sitting in the launch tubes on high alert, and CSS Beta is at ready status to relieve them. We've been flying nonstop recon probes ever since the fleet exited the wormhole."

"Why?"

Dillon's voice lowered to a bare whisper. "Troy, we have no clue where we are. We're way off course and nowhere near Earth, as far as we can tell. And without Earth as a frame of reference, we have no way of telling _when_ we are, either."

"Shit."

"Tell me about it."

*************

Ensign Jera glanced up from his desk in the outer office as Apollo walked through the door.

"Message sent, Commander."

"Good," Apollo nodded distractedly. "It's late, Jera. Why don't you get out of here? You've got an early lecture next cycle."

Jera stood. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

The boy paused as Apollo continued on to his own office. "What about you, sir?" he called out hesitantly.

Apollo glanced back at the ensign, who seemed to be holding his breath, and smiled slightly. "Thank you for your concern, Jera. I'll be calling it a night soon, too, I assure you." He tilted his chin towards the outer door. "Run along, child."

"Sir." The door slid softly shut behind the young warrior.

The lights blazed on as Apollo stepped into his own office and he grimaced. "Lights, fifty percent." He sighed as the lights dimmed to a more tolerable level.

The communication center beeped as it reset itself in response to his presence; the computer-synthesized voice began to recite a list of non-priority messages that had been received over the past twenty or so centars since Apollo had last set foot in the office. Anything truly important had already been relayed via his summoner.

"Communication center, end messages," he said irritably. "Set to out of office reply."

Athena's recorded voice was cut off midsentence. He glanced at his chronometer. She'd be in sleep-period now. He'd have to remember to get back to his sister later with word about Boxey and Zee. He knew she'd been notified as soon as Boxey was out of danger; he could expect to see her in person as soon as the regular interfleet shuttle services resumed, storming through the Celestra's corridors like an avenging angel. He grinned at the thought. It had been yahrens since the current Councilor of Caprica had been considered at all angelic. His baby sister never had been. He knew her temper to be as bad as his own, but it ran cold like Adama's while Apollo's ran hot.

He leaned heavily against the surface of the cabinet along the long wall as he retrieved a short tumbler and a bottle of ambrosa. He could feel himself limping somewhat more than usual as he made his way to the desk to lower himself wearily into the chair. He leaned back and sighed as the sharp pains in his right hip and leg eased somewhat. He fished a packet of mild analgesic tablets out of his desk drawer, and then poured a couple of fingers of ambrosa into the glass. Just a taste, to wash down the pills. The liquor burned in his throat and he closed his eyes as the some of the tension of the last few cycles drained from his shoulders.

His eyes opened and fell on the row of likenesses displayed on the desk: Troy's Academy graduation portrait and another more candid likeness taken two yahrens ago of the newly-minted Captain Troy with his Aunt 'Thena's arm slung around his shoulders stood next to that of the solitary, solemn, tow-headed child that Zee had been when he earned his scientific credentials and the right to the title of Doctor. Apollo's chest ached. Boxey would be fine, though he'd given Apollo a scare he wouldn't soon forget, but Zee...

_Lords, Zee._

Apollo pulled the desk drawer open again and shuffled around until he found the likeness he wanted. It had been a while since he'd last looked at it. For a long time he couldn't. The simple candid scene, captured one evening in the Galactica's Officers' Club and later given to him by mistake, tucked between the leaves of a borrowed book, brought back too many memories. It left him too raw. Later, when he could bear to look at it, he found he couldn't put it down. He'd had to force himself to put it away, to move on to other things; not necessarily better things, but different. He pulled out the likeness now and studied it.

Starbuck's head was thrown back in laughter, the wheat-blond hair falling back from his face, his neck arched. Beside him, nearly in shadow, a much younger Apollo leaned toward him, expression oddly intent as he watched his friend with a small grin. He wondered if it was his imagination or if it had been as obvious to the unknown photographer at that time as it was to him now what would be happening later that evening in the privacy of the then Strike Captain Apollo's quarters. He ran his finger down the arched throat, caught forever in a moment of pure joy.

_I'm so sorry, Starbuck. I couldn't help you, and I couldn't help him. I've failed you both, again. We all did._

He propped the likeness on the desk between the one of Troy and Athena and the one of Zee. The chronometer showed less than four centars left in the ship's sleep-period. He could go back to his quarters and try to sleep, or he could stretch out on the couch here for a nap before the early-cycle staff meeting. He poured a little more ambrosa into the glass and carried it over to the couch. He was asleep almost as soon as he stretched out.

************

**Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain, CO, 22 July 2002: **

Ezekiel sat at the table staring blankly at the bare concrete wall above the door. Staring at the SF guarding the door would do no good. None of the men or women he had seen would make eye contact with him at any rate. The cup of coffee Captain Hensley had left with him had gone cold while he waited.

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and focused his eyes on the door once more. The keycard reader outside the door beeped, and the guard straightened a bit more as the door opened.

Ezekiel rose as two men and a woman strode into the interrogation room. The eldest, a large bald man with a major general's stars on his collar, waved him back into his seat.

"Son, my name is General George Hammond. I am the commander of this facility."

Ezekiel moistened his lips nervously and nodded. "I think I've seen you. You were in the observation gallery last week."

"Dr. Fraiser's first physical examination of you, yes," the older man confirmed. "Dr. Adams..."

He paused and glanced over several pages in the file he carried and looked up at Ezekiel. "Which name do you prefer, son?"

"Pardon?"

"For the last two weeks we've all been calling you 'Ezekiel Adams,' but your testimony states that your given name among your own people is 'Zee.' Captain Alonzo's report refers to you as 'Dr. Zee.'" Hammond watched him appraisingly. "I assume you have a preference?"

Momentarily nonplussed, Ezekiel looked from Hammond to the two as yet unidentified officers flanking the general. It was the first time in two weeks that anyone had asked his opinion about anything. He wasn't sure how to answer.

_Just answer them honestly and completely._

Those had been the last words Daniel had spoken to him before the questions had begun. They had been the last words Daniel had spoken to him at all, and he'd clung to them throughout the interrogations, the medical and psych exams, the poking and prodding and deliberate violations of privacy.

"To be perfectly honest, sir, my name has been Ezekiel Adams now for longer than it was Zee." He shrugged and a small smile quirked across his lips. "I've grown accustomed to it."

Hammond seemed satisfied with his answer and nodded approvingly. "Very well." He leaned back in his seat. "Now, these officers are Major Davis and Major Cassidy. Major Davis is this facility's liaison with the Pentagon. He has a few more questions for you concerning General Slydell's involvement in your... situation. He will then be coordinating with the AFOSI during their investigation."

Davis nodded once, firmly, with a polite smile.

"Major Cassidy is a lawyer assigned to the SGC by the office of the Judge Advocate General. Her department has handled the legal affairs of a number of our offworld visitors in the past, and the major has been specifically briefed to represent your interests for the duration.

"Dr. Adams, the President is prepared to offer you temporary refugee status, pending further investigation of your claims and allegations. While these investigations are proceeding, you will remain in the sole custody of Stargate Command. I understand that your experience with our government agencies has been less than pleasant. Please rest assured that no other agencies will be allowed contact with you without direct orders from the White House. Depending upon the outcome of these investigations, he may be willing to offer you permanent _legal _residency. Do you understand, Dr. Adams?"

Ezekiel didn't miss the slight emphasis on the word "legal," and nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, son. It's already been brought to my attention that the NID has been lobbying the White House for access. We're doing everything in our power to keep them out of these matters, but we will not be able to block them forever. Eventually you will have to speak with their representatives. However, when that time comes, Major Cassidy will be present for the proceedings."

"I understand, sir."

"Now, is there anything you need right now?"

Ezekiel shook his head slowly. He felt a bit out of step. "Um, may I ask about Colonel O'Neill?"

"Madder'n a wet hen. He sustained some second degree burns to his right wrist and forearm, but he's otherwise unharmed. Although I'd advise staying out of his way for the time being," Hammond answered.

Ezekiel closed his eyes and sighed in relief. "Oh."

Hammond considered the younger man briefly. "I understood from Captain Alonzo's report that the weapon you used was considerably less powerful than he'd expected. He seemed to believe it should have taken the colonel's arm off."

"Along with about half of his chest and possibly his head, had it been an actual Borellian Noman bola," Ezekiel nodded. He shrugged. "I modified the design a bit, made them smaller. I just wanted something that would buy me some time if I needed it. I didn't want to actually hurt anyone. Besides, I didn't have access to some of the materials; the raw tylium crystals used by the Nomen to amplify the explosive charge aren't available here. I had to improvise."

"One of our scientists has been studying the undischarged weapon Dr. Jackson took from you. Dr. Lee would be interested in discussing the design with you in detail."

Ezekiel took a deep breath and clasped his hands on the tabletop to still their shaking. He wasn't certain he wanted to put even modified Borellian laser bolas into the hands of the US military, but he didn't see that he had much choice in the matter at the moment. He wasn't really in a position to argue, so he nodded without looking at the general.

"Okay," he said softly.

"Good," Hammond said firmly.

Ezekiel glanced up into the general's coolly-assessing gaze. He thought maybe he'd passed another test. He looked away quickly.

Hammond took a deep breath of his own and added gravely, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, doctor, that your continued cooperation is very much in your own best interest."

Ezekiel shook his head and his mouth twisted. "No, sir. You'll have my... cooperation."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Dr. Adams. Now, I have other matters to attend to, so I'll leave you in Majors Davis and Cassidy's capable hands. Among other items, Major Cassidy has a copy of the standard non-disclosure agreement signed by everyone associated with this program, which you will also sign. When you're done with that, we'll see about moving you into on-base quarters. There will be a guard posted at the door to your quarters at all times. You are restricted to this facility for the time being. You will have access to the commissary, recreation areas, gymnasium and infirmary, and limited access to certain parts of the research facilities in accordance with your cooperative efforts with my people, but you will go nowhere without an escort, am I understood?"

"Yes, General."

Ezekiel stood politely when Hammond and his officers did. The general shook his hand and turned to leave. Ezekiel took a deep breath and called out once more, "General Hammond?" His voice was more uncertain than he had intended, and he caught himself raising a hand to tug at his hair.

The older man stopped with his hand on the door with a questioning expression.

"If you could, sir, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell Dan..." Ezekiel stopped himself. He hadn't heard from Daniel since the first day he'd been brought here. Not once. He had no idea where he stood with him. His chest constricted sharply, and he took a deep breath to clear it and began again. "If you'd tell Dr. Jackson..." He trailed off with a wince.

Tell him what? That he wanted to see him? Did he even have that right anymore? Besides, had he ever been anything but an assignment to Daniel? Looking back on that day in O'Neill's house, Daniel had seemed surprised but a good actor could feign surprise. Nothing had turned out as badly as he'd feared so far, but Ezekiel had no way of knowing, even now.

Hammond broke the uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry, son. I thought you knew," he said, his voice oddly gentle. "Dr. Jackson has been in Washington for the past two weeks briefing the Pentagon and the White House. He has one last meeting this afternoon with the president and the director of the NID. We expect him back tomorrow. I'll let him know you asked about him."

"Thank you, sir."

The door closed silently behind the general, and Ezekiel resumed his seat opposite the two majors.

*****

**Washington, D.C.:**

"Mr. President, I object to this entire line of discussion. Dr. Jackson has no evidence whatsoever that the NID was involved in the supposed harassment of this...," Colonel Simmons waved a primly manicured hand negligently, "person."

The NID director's nasal voice was starting to grate on the nerves. The man in behind the desk silently cursed General Vidrine for dumping this mess in his lap.

"A person who, if I may remind you, sir, has been living in this country illegally for a number of years --"

"Shipwrecked, Mr. President," Daniel interrupted.

"Or so he claims, Mr. President," Simmons' voice rose over Daniel's before he could continue. "But since Dr. Jackson insists on taking this individual's claims as fact, may I remind the good doctor that the subject also claims to have committed genocide against his entire race?"

A raised hand forestalled further comment from the colonel.

"He has a point, Dr. Jackson. This..." There was a brief pause and a rustle of paper as notes were consulted. "Dr. Zee did say he was responsible for the destruction of what was left of his people."

Daniel nodded. "Yes, sir, I've also read the transcripts of Ez -- Dr. Zee's interviews, and I know that he does _blame_ himself for the destruction of the Colonial Fleet, but he has also testified that that was never his intention. He was trying to save them."

"By sending them through an unstable temporal wormhole?"

"Yes, sir. They were trying to escape from an enemy and had discovered that Earth was incapable of offering support at that time. The plan was devised as much for Earth's protection from these enemies as their own."

"Enemies they led to our planet, Mr. President!" Simmons interjected.

"They had hoped that, by simply disappearing from the area without a trace, their enemies would be thrown off the scent and leave the area. Apparently all of his simulations had been flawless, but something went wrong during the actual implementation. The fleet entered the wormhole, but when it came time for the wormhole to reopen, they never emerged."

"And these enemies... these 'Cylons?'"

Daniel shrugged. "That part of their plan seems to have worked perfectly, sir."

"Small favors," Simmons sneered.

"At any rate, the Cylons seem to have departed. We've been traveling through the Stargate and have had numerous visits from off-world allies both by Stargate and by space-faring vessels for the last five years. None have ever mentioned a race called Cylons."

"A race which, as far as we know, may not exist at all except as a figment of the alien's imagination."

"Ah-ah, Colonel Simmons," the president admonished with a wave of his finger. "Either the threat exists or it doesn't. You can't have it both ways."

"My point, sir, is that we really have no way of knowing whether anything this alien--if he even is an alien--tells us is true. There's simply no evidence to support any of his claims or allegations, and frankly, sir, I don't feel that Dr. Jackson is in the best position to be negotiating on behalf of a man who has been his paramour for the last two months!"

The President sighed. The headache that had been gnawing at him for the last couple of hours spiked behind his right eye.

"Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel straightened and looked the president directly in the eye. "My relationship with Ezekiel Adams was never a secret, Mr. President. It is, however, irrelevant to this discussion."

Simmons gave a disgusted snort, earning him a warning look from behind the desk.

"Is the man an alien?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Fraiser's examination confirms that his physiology reflects small but significant differences from that of Earth humans, and the DNA test results indicate that his mitochondrial DNA shows considerable variation from any strains known to be native to this planet. His Y-chromosome information reflects a similar change; he's been identified with no known Y-chromosome haplogroup, although with the higher rate of mutation on the Y-chromosome... The bottom line, sir, is that he is human, but wherever he's from originally, his ancestors seem to have been isolated from Earth's population for many generations."

"Is he a threat to this planet?"

"No more than any one of us, sir."

That earned Daniel a sharp look.

Simmons sputtered, "What exactly are you implying, Jackson?"

"Only that, time and again, our experience has proven that anyone anywhere can be a threat to the planet at any time. If you are asking if I think it's possible for Ezekiel Adams to be a threat, then yes, it's possible. If you are asking if I believe that he does now or will in the future constitute a conscious threat to this world, then absolutely not."

He sat back in his seat and contemplated the painting on the opposite wall. He looked back at Daniel.

"How old was he when this whole thing started?"

"Fourteen, sir."

"And he's been on the planet how long?"

"Twenty-one years."

"During which time he has been free to commit who knows what actions--"

"Save it, Colonel. He's been running free on the planet for twenty-one years; if he hasn't done any damage by now, I seriously doubt he'll be able to do so while in the custody of the SGC. Gentlemen, I have already agreed to offer refugee status to Ezekiel Adams. I have already spoken to General Hammond and see no reason to revoke that order at this time."

"There is the matter of the reporter's disappearance," Simmons commented through stiff lips. "Dr. Zee filed a missing persons' report for Jamie Hamilton with a falsified statement to police."

"A matter which I'm inclined to leave to the City of Arlington. Let them sort it out," he said decisively. "Dr. Jackson, while I understand Dr. Zee's reluctance to speak to representatives of the organization he believes has been harassing him for several years, if some rogue element of the NID has been doing so, Colonel Simmons is well within his rights to request such an interview. I expect the SGC to comply with any reasonable requests so long as Dr. Zee remains in SGC custody. Colonel Simmons, any interviews with Dr. Zee will be conducted at Cheyenne Mountain base within the confines of Stargate Command, will be requested with at least twenty-four hours warning, and will be observed by members of the SGC.

"Now," the president said jovially, slapping the leather-padded arms of his desk chair for emphasis, "are we all dissatisfied? Good. My work is done. Now, both of you get the hell out of my office."

_Two more years of this. Whoever's next is welcome to them! Thank God for term limits. _He smiled wickedly. _I think I'll call Henry Hayes. He could use a little encouragement._

******

**Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain, CO:**

General Hammond leaned back in his chair. He studied the blank surface of the file folder in front of him silently before returning his gaze to the officer seated across from him.

"Just how much help do you think Dr. Adams will be able to give us, Major?" he asked.

Sam Carter nodded with an unconscious bounce that told him just how excited she was by what she'd been reading in Dr. Adams' notes.

"The two of us have been unknowingly working opposite ends of the same basic question for years, sir, in his case, decades. I've been trying to work out how the Stargate functions and what that means about subspace wormholes while Ezekiel has been trying to figure out how to create and also predict and guide the behavior of subspace wormholes. You could think of it as two hikers on opposite ends of the same trail. One is starting at the summit and trying to figure out how to get down, while the other started at the base, trying to work out the best ascent. Between them, they know quite a lot about the trail itself, if they can pool their information at some point."

He nodded to himself, then commented, "You are aware, Major, that Area 51 has expressed... considerable interest in acquiring Dr. Adams' services for their own projects. Many of them are far more long term than we are able to manage at this facility."

"I think that would be a big mistake, sir," Carter said earnestly.

"You mean aside from the fact that he'd probably never see the light of day again?" O'Neill snorted from his position near the far wall. "That'd make Daniel pissy."

"Aside from that, sirs, yes. I think Ezekiel is far more valuable to the Air Force if he remains here at the SGC."

"Why is that, Major?" Hammond asked.

"I've been going over his records of the original wormhole that he used to transport the Colonial Fleet. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I know what went wrong."

"Oh? What was that?"

"Us, sir."

"Us?" O'Neill straightened. "We happened?"

Carter turned to address the colonel.

"Yes, sir. 1969."

"The wormhole malfunction that sent SG-1 into the past?" Hammond asked. "How could that have affected a wormhole in 1981?"

"Like I said, sir, I've been studying Ezekiel's original data. There was nothing wrong with it. It should have worked flawlessly and would have, except that we introduced another variable, one he couldn't have predicted. A second temporal wormhole operating in the same time and space as his own."

"You think we hit them? A temporal fender-bender?" O'Neill asked incredulously.

Carter nodded. "Something like that, sir. Not actually hit, that would have been mutually destructive, but I do think our wormhole affected subspace in the area in such a way as to send both of us off-course. We were less affected because we had the Stargate to act as an anchor on each end. The Colonial Fleet, however, only had one anchor, at the origination point."

"I thought when your wormhole ended up in the future, it was because you entered too soon? Wasn't that what Cassandra told you?

"Yes, sir. But that could have simply been the story she was told, or what she was told to tell us at that time. After all, knowing about the second wormhole--"

"Would have affected our future. Yadda," O'Neill said, rubbing at his temples. "You're giving me a headache, Carter. Cut to the chase."

"I think they're alive, sirs. I think the Colonial Fleet's still out there and that they'll emerge from the wormhole largely intact, if they haven't already. And I think that, with Ezekiel's help, we can pinpoint where and when."

******

Ezekiel waited until the guard had closed the door before taking a look around his new quarters. They weren't as Spartan as the holding cell, to be sure, but he certainly wasn't in the lap of luxury, either. A double bed covered with an Air Force blue coverlet dominated the room. There was a tall wood-veneer cabinet containing a television, DVD player and several board games on the wall opposite the bed and a bureau on the long wall opposite the door. Between the bed and door, there was a round table with three straight-backed chairs. A fourth chair stood against the wall next to the door. Two doors proved to lead into a small bathroom with a shower stall and a closet, respectively. Everything he owned was stuffed into his Army surplus backpack, which had been left resting on the table.

Major Davis had been very sorry to inform him that someone had cleaned out his apartment before SGC security could get there on Saturday. Not even the furniture had remained, which really was a shame since it didn't actually belong to Ezekiel. The apartment had been rented furnished. Ezekiel was assured that Mrs. Watkins would be reimbursed for her loss.

A soft cough made him turn, and his breath caught. Daniel stood framed in the doorway, head ducked, arms folded across his chest. When Daniel reached up to adjust his glasses, Ezekiel felt something give and drew a breath once more.

"So, do you want me to call you Zee?"

"Do you want me to call you Dan?"

Daniel grinned in spite of himself. "Ezekiel it is, then."

"You gonna come in?" Ezekiel strove for a negligent tone.

Daniel licked his lips quickly and nodded.

"I could do that," he said. He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Ezekiel stared at him for a moment, uncertain, then waved toward a chair. "So, have a seat. I'd offer you something, but..."

"A little low on stuff at the moment," Daniel finished for him.

"Yeah," Ezekiel said, subdued.

The two men looked at anything but each other for several long minutes, before the silence became too much for either of them to bear.

"So, how was--"

"So, how are--"

They both stopped, embarrassed.

Ezekiel pulled a chair around and straddled it, resting his elbows on the back rail, trying to cover his discomfort.

Daniel gave him an odd, sad look and sat down in the chair opposite.

"How are you, Ezekiel?" he started again, his tone softer, more intimate than before.

Ezekiel nodded. "I'm fine. Better than I thought I was going to be," he said with a soft mirthless laugh.

"They've treated you okay?"

"Now that they've established that I'm a person, yeah," Ezekiel said, just a hint of bitterness coloring the humor in his tone.

Daniel winced. "I'm sorry. They... We have to be careful. There's a lot at stake."

"Yeah, I get that."

"Do you?" Daniel asked earnestly.

Ezekiel looked up, ready with a sharp retort, but swallowed it when his eyes met his lover's. He nodded. "Actually, yeah, I do. I've been where you are." He laughed again. "I grew up there."

"There's a briefing tomorrow," Daniel said. He ran a finger along the faux wood-grain on the surface of the table.

"I know," Ezekiel said archly. "So I can start 'cooperating.'"

"Damn it, Ezekiel." Daniel rose and paced restlessly, putting some necessary distance between himself and the other man. The last couple of weeks had been tense and Daniel hadn't had a moment to really rest since the day his lover had been taken into SGC custody. The unrelieved strain and fatigue were combining into a simmering anger. He spun back around. "You know, none of this would have happened if you'd just--"

"Just what, Daniel?" Ezekiel's temper flared, fueled by Daniel's, and he spun to his feet to face him. "What would you have had me do? Just tell you? Just like that? When was I supposed to do that, Daniel?! After dinner, over coffee, at the bookstore? During sex? 'Oh, by the way, did you know that I'm an alien scientist who's been trapped on your planet for the last twenty-odd years?' You'd have thought I was insane! And what about you? Linguist for NORAD?"

"I am a linguist, Ezekiel. That's my job here."

"Oh, give me a break!" Ezekiel said derisively. "You're just another linguist, are you? And the SGC -- whatever the hell that stands for -- it's just one more military program padding out the federal budget? You've got ranking officers from every goddamned service branch I've ever heard of genuflecting every time you walk by, so come on, Daniel, tell me another one!"

"They don't genuflect," Daniel snapped.

"They might as well."

Daniel paced the end of the room for a few minutes in silence. Ezekiel was right about the reaction he could have expected, of course -- or rather, as right as he could have been with no knowledge of Daniel's own experiences. If Daniel had been the person he was forced to pretend he was -- and to a certain extent, Ezekiel was right about that as well -- Ezekiel couldn't have told him anything. Ironically, the fact that his lover was right only served to frustrate Daniel more and he was ashamed of the reaction. He took a deep breath.

"What were you going to do?" he asked, helplessly.

The question jarred Ezekiel out of his own thoughts. "What?"

Daniel strode back to the table and stopped just an arm's length from him. Ezekiel stared into his lover's angry blue eyes in confusion.

"What were you going to do?" Daniel repeated. He waved an arm around him, indicating the room at large, or maybe the world itself. "Wha-what? You think they're all dead, the NID is chasing you. You do know you were never going to shake them, right?"

Ezekiel nodded slowly. "Yes."

"So - what?"

"I had to know," he whispered. "I had to know what had gone wrong, why they all died." He shook his head and looked away, no longer able to meet Daniel's eyes.

Daniel nodded. "And what then?" he asked. "What were you going to do with it? Nothing you could do would bring them back. Could it?"

"No," Ezekiel answered with a small, humorless laugh.

"Then, what?" Daniel whispered, almost too softly for Ezekiel to hear.

Ezekiel closed his eyes against a sudden stinging sensation. He swallowed painfully.

"I suppose you've read the transcripts of my interviews with Dr. Lee?" he asked.

Daniel cocked his head and reached for the chair he'd vacated earlier. "Yeah? Well, parts of them..."

Ezekiel smiled fondly without looking up. "The parts about the Nomen, I'll bet."

"Of course," Daniel said with a small smile of his own.

"I was fascinated by the Borellian Nomen when I was a boy, you know. Read everything I could find about them in the Fleet's library and archives, and when that ran out, I took to pestering anyone I could find who had had dealings with them. I'd've gone directly to them, if I could have."

Daniel nodded. "You mentioned that they were a clannish people. They kept themselves separate from the rest of the Fleet's population."

"Yes, but that's not why," Ezekiel said.

"Oh?"

"You see, there were no more Borellian Nomen in the Fleet by the time I was old enough to learn about them. There had been a small enclave of Nomen aboard the freighter Borella for a time, about fifty souls, but they were a proud people, nomadic on their own world, fiercely independent. The Fleet was too confining for them. Their culture simply couldn't adapt to their new situation." He looked up, then, and met Daniel's eyes. "You know from your own world, a people like that can't be confined. It either destroys their culture or it destroys their souls."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "I can think of a few examples, yes."

"Commander Apollo--he was Colonel Apollo when I was young, my guardian's son--he'd had some dealings with them himself, briefly. Early in the Great Flight, a small clan had attempted to enact a blood trail through the Fleet. They were hunting a man who had cheated them in a business deal. He said that at the time he was more interested in keeping them from killing anyone than in discussing their culture and belief systems..."

Daniel laughed softly.

"...but he was able to tell me a few stories. And of course, he was privy to the results of the final investigation."

"That doesn't sound good," Daniel commented.

Ezekiel frowned. "Well, I suppose that depends on who you ask," he said thoughtfully. He reached out and touched the worn deck of cards that lay in the center of the VIP suite's table.

Daniel watched Ezekiel shuffle the cards absently and waited for him to continue.

"The Nomen knew that they couldn't continue to preserve their way of life while living in the Fleet, and they couldn't honestly expect to survive on their own outside of it. They couldn't abandon their Code and preserve their honor; they couldn't live in the Fleet without abandoning their Code. They chose another option."

"What was that?"

"About eleven years following the flight from the Colonies, the remaining Nomen--they were down to almost half their number by this time--secluded themselves in their enclave and enacted a ritual honor battle. The last survivor, a man named Bara, was charged with performing their Rite of the Honored Dead. He then took his own life in the prescribed manner." Ezekiel shuddered slightly. "Apollo said he understood why. He didn't agree with their decision and would have tried to stop it if he'd known what they were planning, but he understood it."

Daniel nodded sadly. "They preserved both their culture and their honor, which they deemed more important than their individual lives." His head snapped up as he made the connection between this tangent and the earlier conversation. "You son of a bitch!" he whispered angrily.

Ezekiel nodded to himself, not looking at Daniel's suddenly flushed face. "I suppose you could say that finding out what happened was my Rite of the Honored Dead," he said calmly. "It was the very least I could do."

He didn't look up as Daniel left the room. The door slammed behind him and bounced back open, but Ezekiel made no move to close it.

"Everything okay, Dr. Adams?"

Ezekiel raised his head and looked into the craggy face of SG-5's team leader. He'd met the man briefly at O'Neill's house and had to search his memory for a moment before he found the name.

"Yes, thank you, Major Griff," he said softly.

"I was just passing by. Dr. Jackson was sure in a hurry. Just about bowled me over."

Ezekiel smiled a little and looked down at the cards in his hands. "I don't think Dr. Jackson is very pleased with me at the moment."

The man nodded and scratched his head, embarrassed. "Y'know, my wife gets like that sometimes. I get her those little shell chocolates, y'know, the ones from Belgium," Griff commented helpfully. "Does the trick every time."

Ezekiel laughed softly. "I think we're a bit beyond chocolates at the moment, but thank you, Major."

"Yeah. Well, have a good night, sir." The man walked out the door, then ducked his head back in. "You keep those chocolates in mind, doc. The little shells." He winked and waved and moved off down the corridor.

Ezekiel nodded. "Little shells."

_Twenty-third of July._

He'd missed Daniel's birthday, he realized. He'd always been going to miss Daniel's birthday. He shuffled the cards twenty-three times and cut. Ace of Spades.

_Any spade: leave immediately._

_And how do you suggest I manage that?_

******

O'Neill gave him about a half hour before heading down to the gym to find Daniel, then he just watched for a while. Daniel had fallen into a pattern at the heavy bag. Left, left, right. Right, left, right. Right, right, left. He thought about waiting until his friend was finished for the night, then commented, "So, is it because he's a guy?"

Daniel's rhythm faltered, and his head snapped around. He was red-faced and his hair stood up in sweat-soaked spikes around his temples. "What?!" he hissed.

O'Neill raised his eyebrows at him. "You heard me. Is it because he's a guy?"

Daniel shook his head slowly, open-mouthed. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said slowly and returned to battering the bag.

"'Cause, you see...," O'Neill stepped into Daniel's space and crowded him away from the bag, "when it was the Destroyer of Worlds up there in that VIP suite, it seems to me you cut her a lot more slack than you're willing to cut ol' Zorro."

Daniel threw one last left-handed punch around O'Neill's side and into the bag, then turned away. He stripped off the gloves as he stalked away a short distance, then turned, frustrated. "What the hell, Jack? You hated the fact that we were together, now you're unhappy because we're not?"

"No, no... Not unhappy. And for your information, Daniel, I didn't hate that you were together. I didn't know the guy, aside from that really sweet lefty swing of his... suppose he'd be willing to play for the SGC in this year's softball tournament? That guy NORAD fielded last year couldn't pitch worth shit to lefty batters."

Daniel shook his head, not looking at O'Neill. "I wouldn't know, Jack," he answered softly.

O'Neill shrugged. "It's a little late in the season..." He trailed off and waited.

"Damn it, Jack! You have no idea--," Daniel shouted furiously.

O'Neill cut him off with the ease of long practice. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do. Security called me when you went to his room." He paused for a moment to let that sink in. "You should know, Daniel, his place is wired for both video and audio. We heard the whole thing. Mackenzie's office has been notified. Mental Health will be keeping an eye on him."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Daniel admitted.

"I've been where he is, Daniel," O'Neill said. "So have you."

"I know."

"So you know, he's gonna have to climb off that ledge on his own," O'Neill finished. "You just need to decide whether you're gonna be there to pull him in the door."

*******************

Northern Spain was a truly lovely place. Vernon had been absolutely correct, as usual, Rhonda Slydell thought fondly as she worked her way along the rose border. The countryside was just as lovely as across the Pyrenees in France, but the cost of living was so much lower. With Vernon's military pension and her own modest Social Security and savings income, they were able to live so much more comfortably than they would have if they'd stayed in the States.

Still, sometimes she wished she were closer to her sister and the rest of the family... Rhonda sighed. Lorraine had written inviting them back to Virginia for Thanksgiving. She'd talk to Vernon this evening. It would be nice to see her sister and nieces again. It was hard to believe Megan and Andrea were in college already.

If she could get Vernon involved wtih his old cronies, maybe she'd be able to steal a little time to visit with Tommy and the children...

The crunch of tires on the gravel drive caught her attention and Rhonda straightened and pushed back her straw sunhat. A black sedan had stopped in front of the house and a young man was talking to the housekeeper; Ana motioned toward the garden where Rhonda stood and the man began to walk toward her. She went to meet him.

"Mrs. Slydell?" he called politely.

His accent was Mid-Western American, unusual in their sleepy part of the world. His bearing and gait were military, though he wasn't in uniform. This was either a social call, Rhonda thought, or very important business, indeed.

"Yes, I'm Rhonda Slydell. What can I do for you, Mr..." she allowed the sentence to die with a hint of a question.

He smiled as he approached.

"My name is Agent Malcolm Howard, ma'am. I'm with the NID; your husband contributed to one of our projects in the past. I'm actually here to see the general. Is he in?"

It was a business call, then, although she didn't recognize that particular bowl of the Washington alphabet soup. Well, Rhonda had been an officer's wife for more than three decades, now. She knew how to be both gracious and discreet. She pulled off her heavy canvas garden gloves, tucked them into the pocket of her chambray skirt and offered her hand to Agent Howard.

"Vernon takes a walk every day after lunch, Agent Howard," she said as Howard smiled again and grasped her hand. "It's been about an hour. He shouldn't be gone much longer. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'd appreciate that," Howard answered.

He wasn't as young as Rhonda had thought, maybe in his mid-forties, but he was reasonably good looking with short-cropped blond hair and grey eyes that crinkled with laugh-lines when he smiled. He took her arm like a gentleman and led the way back up the path and into the house.


End file.
